Fish Nor Fowl
by Marguerite1
Summary: Just how badly did Josh screw up in "The Portland Trip?"


**Fish Nor Fowl**

Classification: Post-ep for "The Portland Trip" - or else I'd have had to strangle Josh.   
Summary: "Oh, man," Josh said aloud, rubbing his temples with the knuckles of his index   
fingers. "Just how badly did I screw this up?" 

With grateful thanks to Ryo Sen, Jill Kirby, and Anna for their timely and   
honest beta reading. 

*** 

Josh Lyman's apartment   
12:45 a.m.   


There was no one to call. 

Josh hated that feeling, the sensation that a thousand supernovas were running   
through his bloodstream and that he'd explode if he couldn't find an outlet for   
all his energy. Usually he'd just pick up the phone and go from there - call Sam   
and drag him from his unnaturally tidy environment to some hole-in-the-wall   
where the beers were ice cold and the ambiance was so noisy that they could talk   
about state secrets yet not be overheard. On the rare occasions where Sam blew   
him off, he could phone CJ. Josh was one of the few people who knew her secret   
predilection for dancing, and he enjoyed whisking her away to a place where they   
could burn off their excess energies without consequence. 

But CJ and Sam were in the friendly night skies, unavailable for a conference in   
the flesh, and that was what he needed after his long ordeal at the White House. 

He considered calling Leo and asking, again, if he'd like some coffee. Poor guy.   
Josh had never felt any particular fondness for Jenny, who on her part had never   
shown him any particular fondness, either. Nonetheless, he knew Leo loved her   
deeply and was feeling a renewed sense of loss. But he'd said "no," and when Leo   
said "no" it didn't mean "please talk me out of it," it meant "no." 

There were others, guys from Congress or their aides, people with whom he had   
started hanging around for political expedience only to find that he had a   
genuine appreciation for their company. Matt Skinner was one of those guys, but   
Josh had burned a few bridges earlier in the evening, then scattered the ashes   
just to make sure. 

"If this had been an actual emergency, you would've been instructed to contact   
Toby Ziegler and get the ass-kicking you so deeply deserve," Josh muttered,   
setting down the phone again when he remembered that Toby was off with CJ and   
Sam. 

Ass-kicking? Where the hell did that come from? 

With a sudden flash, an epiphany that sang like a chorus of angels - if angels   
tended to blow raspberries during their chants - Josh knew why his subconscious   
was bubbling to the surface and demanding that his posterior be kicked, and   
hard. 

Donna. Usually his first call. Just...not after tonight. 

Good God. What had he said to her? Something about being coupled up, and   
self-worth, something that made her face melt, that made the Donna-spark vanish   
from her eyes like a match extinguished by ice water. But he couldn't remember   
what he'd said. 

He stopped pacing. 

It was happening more often now, the tendency to let loose with verbal outbursts   
that left him stunned afterwards, unable to remember the words or why he'd said   
them. 

"Oh, man," Josh said aloud, rubbing his temples with the knuckles of his index   
fingers. "Just how badly did I screw this up?" 

Something he remembered with crystal clarity was Leo, sitting on the sofa right   
here in Josh's living room about a month before Josh had been allowed to return   
to work. Leo had proven his political craftiness by sending Donna on a spurious   
but important-sounding errand. It bought enough time for the two guys to share   
Leo's contraband - overstuffed Reuben sandwiches from the only decent deli in   
the entire D.C. area. 

Over their sandwiches and half-sour pickles they'd swapped Margaret and Donna   
stories, laughing, but then Leo had turned serious. 

"It's one thing to kid around with them a little, Josh, but you have to know   
there's a line and you can't step over it. You have to make sure you don't hurt   
these women, ever." Leo had leaned forward, holding a sauerkraut-dampened hand   
just shy of Josh's arm. "They're women of valor, Josh. Don't forget that." 

"Beyond rubies," Josh had whispered, remembering the long, horrible nights when   
Donna was his only link to sanity in a world of shock and agony and   
helplessness. 

Tonight Donna had been dressed like a ruby, and he had humiliated her. 

"You're a schmuck," he said to his reflection in the window as he considered   
picking up the phone. 

"You're a schmuck and a coward," he amended, lifting his chin and staring   
himself down. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. His car   
radio was tuned to NPR and they were interviewing someone about Seasonal   
Affective Disorder. Josh groaned and turned the radio off with a sharp snap of   
his wrist. "Give me a break," he muttered into the chilly night air. Seconds   
later he realized that he'd forgotten to grab his coat on the way out. "Serves   
me right." 

Traffic was light, and he was at Donna's apartment before he had time to talk   
himself out of it. Fortune was smiling on him, he thought, noticing that   
Miranda's car wasn't in the space next to Donna's. Her roomate's new boyfriend   
must be working out. 

So Donna got to witness Miranda's happiness every day of her life. Ouch. 

He craned his neck, counting windows. Her living room light was still on. It was   
a good sign, he thought. Then he thought it was a bad sign because surely,   
surely she'd have gone to bed by now unless she felt the need to sit on the   
sofa, eat ice cream, and brood. 

Josh shifted in the seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Taking a deep   
breath, Josh punched her number on the speed-dial that she had programmed for   
him. The phone rang once, twice, and then he heard her voice, thick with   
exhaustion. "Josh, I said I'd call you in the morning." 

"Yeah. Thanks. Hey, Donna - could you do me a favor?" 

She paused. "Don't make me come in to the office. I've had a couple drinks and I   
really shouldn't drive." 

A couple? Were they the ones she'd had with dinner, or had there been more when   
she got home? Josh shook the thought out of his head as he got out of the car.   
"Nah, this one's easy. Go to your living room window and look out." 

"If this is some sick variation on 'what are you wearing,' Josh..." He heard her   
walking toward the window and saw her silhouette against the mini blinds. "Okay,   
what am I looking for?" 

"You're looking," Josh said slowly, running his free hand through his hair, "for   
a complete asshole who wants to apologize." 

There was a catch in her voice. "I think I see one. Some dork who doesn't wear a   
coat in the winter." 

"Yeah, that's the one." He waited next to the car, stamping his feet to ward off   
the bitter chill, his heart beating fast enough to make him dizzy. 

"Come up before you freeze to death. I'll buzz you in." 

Josh took the stairs two at a time, trying to burn off the hyperactivity but   
succeeding only in getting winded. He leaned over, his palms on his thighs, and   
was still catching his breath when the door opened. 

"Josh, what the hell?" 

"I'm fine...ran too fast..." Josh gulped for air and looked up. Donna was in her   
bathrobe, a ridiculously oversized green terrycloth monstrosity, and he could   
see navy blue flannel at her wrists and ankles. "You were going to bed, weren't   
you?" 

"Not yet. I was just...thinking. Here." She took his elbow and pulled him into   
the living room, shutting the door and fastening all the locks, the largest of   
which had been installed at Josh's insistence. "So. About the asshole who wanted   
to grovel." 

"Apologize." 

"Groveling works better," Donna insisted. Her smile was strained. 

Josh tucked his chin to his chest, looking at Donna through half-mast eyes.   
"Remember the UFO guy Sam talked to at one of his cheese meetings our first   
year? I think you'd better call him up 'cause Josh Lyman was abducted by aliens   
and this pod person guy took over his body. Turned him into a real moron who   
says mean things to his assistant that the real Josh has to apologize for in the   
middle of the night." 

"I'll take that under advisement." Donna's arms were crossed and she lowered her   
head, her hair falling in front of her face so that Josh couldn't read her   
expression. 

"Donna, look, I'm really sorry. That was way outta line, even for me." 

"I didn't deserve that," Donna whispered. "You hurt my feelings tonight. I don't   
mind when you joke, but you meant what you said and that hurt me." 

"To tell the truth, I don't remember what I said. I opened my mouth and some   
crap came out, and the next thing I knew you had such a..." He waved his hands   
in front of his face. "I'm sorry." 

"It's just that I had a really lousy week and I didn't need your pop psychology   
lesson on top of...well, the other stuff." 

Josh watched her as she pulled the sash on her bathrobe tighter. Beyond where   
Donna was standing were her bookcases, and among the books and photographs were   
greeting cards. One had a big, pink cake on the front, with yellow glitter   
serving as candle flames. 

"Donna. It's November." 

"Yeah, and you really should wear a coat, you know that?" 

"Your birthday..." 

"...was two days ago," she finished for him. "Don't worry about it, Josh. I   
didn't put it on your calendar." 

He winced as another layer of guilt settled on his shoulders. "You never do, but   
Ginger or Margaret always reminds me. Not that I remember, anyway, and whatever   
you get usually comes from CJ, who sends me the bill along with a note about   
what a thoughtless, arrogant oaf I am." 

Donna's face still bore the remnants of makeup, but there were dark smudges of   
mascara beneath her eyes and the blush on her cheeks had long, thin streaks   
running through it. She sat on the arm of the sofa and folded her hands in her   
lap. 

"Donna. Donna, look at me." She wouldn't lift her head so he crouched in front   
of her, looking up at her wan face. "No one said anything this year. I'd have   
done something. After everything you went through for me, you have to know that   
I'd have done...something." 

"I know," she whispered, her voice choked with tears. She turned her head, but   
not before Josh saw a shining drop make its way down her face. 

"And don't you guys usually take each other out the Friday of your birthday   
weeks, anyway?" He saw another drop, and another, splashing on the sleeve of   
Donna's robe, and he patted her arm. "Donna?" 

"We don't...hang out much, anymore." 

Josh shook his head, remembering peals of bright laughter whenever the   
assistants were together in the mess. "None of you? Did something happen?" 

"The others still hang out, Josh. Just...not with me. Not since..." She put her   
hands over her face. "Gimme a second, okay?" 

He'd only been back at work for a few weeks and he strained to remember the last   
time Ginger had dropped by for a chat with Donna, or when he'd seen any of them   
eating with her in the mess, but all he could remember was Donna spooning yogurt   
out of a cup at Josh's desk, claiming that she wanted to read for a while before   
getting back to work and that she'd rather not be interrupted. 

Remorse took a back seat to a sudden, white-hot anger. "Donna, if this is   
because of those nights you stayed at my place when I got home from the   
hospital..." 

"It's not about that. Well, it's not only about that." She took a deep breath   
and wiped her eyes with her fingertips before turning back to him. "No one   
thought we were doing anything inappropriate, Josh. I mean, you could hardly   
hold up the telephone to talk to anyone, much less--" 

"Yeah, let's stay away from 'much less,' please. Those three months were bad   
enough without massacring my ego." He was still angry, holding it in check lest   
he say something that could cause Donna any more pain. "So, if that's not it,   
what's this about?" 

"You know that I was the only assistant they let into the hospital, right?" 

"Well, I was the only boss in the hospital. Not counting the President, of   
course." 

"Of course," Donna echoed, and Josh was relieved to see a ghost of a smile on   
her face. "They were okay with that - I mean, if it'd been CJ, they'd have let   
Carol be there, right?" She waited, shivering, and let Josh run his hand gently   
up and down her arm. "I don't even think they minded when the President put me   
on a fully-paid leave of absence while you were in the hospital, or that no one   
made me punch out when I went to see you during the day or drove you to physical   
therapy once you got home." 

The anger dissipated a little, but the guilt returned full-force. "That was   
above and beyond the call, Donna. So what didn't they like?" 

She glanced away from him for a moment before looking back into his eyes. "You   
remember when you first got home, I wasn't letting anyone from the office visit   
you. They'd come to your office to ask me how you were, and they'd stay to   
talk." Donna's eyes brightened and her tone lost its wistful quality as she   
continued. "CJ would say I looked tired, and would I like to get some coffee, or   
Sam would cancel a meeting and make me go have lunch with him. A couple of   
times, Toby came by and pretended he was on his way somewhere else, but he'd   
always leave a book or magazine for me, or those cheese things I like from the   
mess, something like that. He'd just put it on the desk while we were talking   
and then walk away." 

"So...they're jealous because the senior staff was nice to you?" 

"No," Donna said, her voice hesitant and soft once again, "but I think that was   
the start of the problem. It got to where we'd be together outside of work. Sam   
took me rowing on the Potomac a couple of times, and CJ and I went to a spa   
together and had our nails done. Toby - well, Toby kind of skulked around, but   
whenever CJ and Sam and I went for a drink, Toby would come, too. We got to be   
friends, Josh, not just work acquaintances, and they treated me as if I'm their   
equal." 

"But you are--" 

"They're educated, Josh. They have law degrees and Masters' degrees, and I'm a   
college dropout. I have less education than anyone working as a senior staff   
member's assistant, did you know that? Carol's ABD at Georgetown, for God's   
sake, and she'll finish in the spring. But I'm the one going to CJ's   
hairdresser. I don't blame her for thinking I'm getting...you know...above my   
station." 

"Above your station?" Josh's voice went up an octave. "What is this, 'Upstairs,   
Downstairs?' " 

"What I mean is that it's like that old saying about being neither fish nor   
fowl. And don't laugh at me, Josh," Donna said, her forehead wrinkling. Josh   
could see the struggle to hold back her tears. 

"I'm not laughing at you, Donna. I'm laughing at them for being so damn stupid.   
Not that I'm not pissed off, and not that I don't want to tear their arms off   
and beat them over the head with the wet stumps, but they're stupid. It's like   
that time I took Charlie to a bar by Georgetown and he obsessed over being the   
only one not in college. CJ told him he's a hundred times smarter than anyone in   
the room, and she was right. And that applies to you as well." 

She blinked at him a few times, her head tilted to one side. 

"Donna, you're every inch my equal, even without the degrees from Harvard and   
Yale--" 

"And the 760 verbal on the SAT, don't forget that," she chimed in, and Josh was   
relieved to hear some of the old Donna in her mocking tones. 

"And in matters of conscience, matters of the spirit, matters of humanity," he   
began, finding that he had to look away from her lest her bright-eyed gaze make   
him lose his composure, "you are my superior." 

He hadn't seen her look so grateful, so moved, since he'd given her the book on   
skiing the previous Christmas. And she hadn't hugged him so hard since that day,   
either. Josh smoothed her hair for a moment. "I'd like to give you that dress   
for your birthday, Donna. You really did look...incredible." 

To his surprise, she drew back from the hug and shook her head. "I loved it when   
I tried it on, but now...I think it'll just make me think about the lousy date   
and how mean you were to me and why I even had time to go out with the guy. But   
I appreciate the thought." 

"Okay, then." Josh smiled at her until she smiled back, and this time her eyes   
had the Donna-spark they had been missing all night. "I hate to shatter the   
moment. But I've gotta, you know." He got to his feet, groaning as his knees   
creaked, and went into the bathroom. 

Hanging on the shower rod was the red dress, the tag cleverly concealed between   
the lining and the bodice. Josh peeked at the price and gasped. How could   
something so small cost so much money? And since when did women come in size   
zero? 

The part of his brain that had been on overdrive since the day he stepped back   
into his office wanted to make those snotty hellcats pay, wanted to have them be   
the ones to order flowers and pick out a nice dress and arrange dinner   
reservations. But he'd just have to wait until CJ got home. He'd bribe her with   
drinks and dancing, that's what he'd do. And if that failed, he'd whine until   
she gave in. 

He heard Donna turn on the radio in her bedroom. Something soft and sweet, a   
familiar tune he couldn't quite place. "I'm about to go to bed, Josh, so hurry   
up." 

"I'm out, I'm out." He washed his hands, carefully avoiding the sight of his   
face in the mirror. He found Donna standing outside the bathroom, smiling at   
him. "See you tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, 'cause there's nothing in the world I love so much as spending Saturday   
at the office." 

"Flattery will get you everywhere." 

"Get out of my house, Joshua," she said, giving him a playful shove toward the   
door. "G'night." 

"Night, Donna." Even after the door closed, he could still hear the melody   
floating from Donna's apartment. It was a Christmas carol - already, and here it   
was the week before Thanksgiving - and as he reached into his pocket for his   
keys he noticed a tremor in his hands. 

***   
End   
***   
Feedback is welcome at marguerite@swbell.net.   
Back to West Wing fiction.   



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